


Exsomnis

by RedHead



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Angst, Bed-sharing, Hurt/Comfort, Insomnia, M/M, Mild Horror, Nightmares, allusions to desperation and depression, and a vague sex scene (one-two paragraphs), and post-traumatic stress, in case anyone cares about that, mentions/discussion of drunk driving, rating is for some swears, which has bottom!len
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-23
Updated: 2016-01-23
Packaged: 2018-05-15 17:19:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5793253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedHead/pseuds/RedHead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Barry is plagued by nightmares and insomnia. He can’t sleep, hasn’t slept in weeks, not properly. When Leonard Snart chances upon him mid-nightmare and wakes him up, though, Barry discovers he may have found a way to make it through the night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Exsomnis

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LiselleVelvet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiselleVelvet/gifts).
  * Translation into Русский available: [Exsomnis](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6527884) by [Taicho](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taicho/pseuds/Taicho)



> I wrote a [short dark nightmare ficlet for Barry](http://coldtomyflash.tumblr.com/post/137672094672/the-one-left-behind) but felt like I needed more after reading Lisellevelvet’s [less depressing one](http://coldtomyflash.tumblr.com/post/137695576372/one-character-playing-with-the-others-hair).

Barry wasn’t sure if he would be able to sleep that night. He hadn’t in a week, not really, not for more than a smattering of hours. But his body didn’t have the energy to run around the city for the entire night, exhaustion dragging him to bed, and when he got there, things eventually started to blur, the liminal space between wake and sleep becoming less tangible, more a drowsy daze, all consuming, all…

He couldn’t move.

He wasn’t alone.

He was being dragged out of bed— _now I will show you, Flash, what it means to be a hero_ —

He was bloody, he was in _pain_ —

He couldn't move.

Zoom had him by the throat. _They will see what you really are, Flash, as you fail them_. They weren’t alone. The roof of STAR Labs. The city below them. Everyone there, everyone watching, everyone _screaming—_

He couldn’t move.

Zoom was going to make Barry _watch_ —he was going to kill—

 

[ … ]

 

Len shouldn’t be doing this. He really shouldn’t be here at all, especially not in this state, not able to stay quiet, to plan this out at _all_ , trying to tip toe and not snicker as he moved around the apartment. But then plans—or not plans, as it were—changed when he heard a scream down the hall.

His blood froze in his veins and he reacted on instinct. Len’s feet flew and he threw open the door, not caring about the sound, gun out, but—

No one was there.

No one except Barry, thrashing on the bed in the light coming in from the window, shouting in his sleep—

“ _Not Patty! IRIS! NO!!_ ”

Oh.

Len re-holstered his gun, swayed ever so slightly as he teetered between leaving and waking Barry. But the other was whimpering now—“please, Zoom, not them, anyone, stop, I’ll do anythi—”

He couldn’t take it, and it had only been seconds. It _grated_ , like everything _wrong_ in the world. His patience wasn’t in the best place, not the best state of mind at all. He was walking forward though, pulling off a glove and shoving it in his pocket before reaching out and just doing it, grabbing Barry’s bare shoulder and—

 

[ … ]

 

Barry woke mid-shout, yelling, startled, lashing out, speeding, flailing, slamming into—

“ _Oooff_ — _jesus,_ Barry—”

“ _Snart_?!”

“Ugh, hi.”

“Wha—Snart?!” It really was him. Barry had him pressed against the wall of his room, sweating and shaking and short of breath, alarmed with his heart hammering in his chest. He took a steadying breath, more bemused than anything. “Seriously? Wha—wait, what are you doing in my apartment?” He woke a little more, “what are you doing in my _bedroom_?”

“Waking you up.” There was the smell of alcohol on his breath.

“Waking me—” Barry let go of the parka and stepped back, and only then realized that Snart was in the Captain Cold outfit. His brain was online enough that he was getting angry. “ _What were you doing in my bedroom_!”

“Chill out, Barry,” he waved his hand around vaguely and his drawl was a little too sloppy. “Should be thanking me for waking you up.”

“Are you _kidding_ me right now?”

The other man laughed, a little too…giggly. “Kidding the kid, as if.”

“Wait… Snart, are you _drunk_?”

“Are _you_ drunk, Barry?”

“You—ohmygod you _are_.”

“Not anymore.” That was not comforting.

“ _Snart_ …”

“I was drunk when I took the stupid bet. Now ’m just… buzzed.” He said it with a pout, barely visible in the dark of Barry’s room. He was _definitely_ drunk.

“What the hell, Snart? Like, for real? You show up at my apartment in the middle of the night _drunk?_ On a _bet_?” Barry clicked on the lamp and Leonard brought up his hand against the sudden light.

“To steal something, not to wake you up.” Snart shrugged at him, letting out a little laugh and, yep, this night was awful. He looked a little glassy-eyed, even.

“Who the hell bet you to steal something from me?” Barry crossed his arms, but doubted he looked especially intimidating in his pajamas.

“From _the Flash_ —‘n it was Lisa.”

Barry rolled his eyes, “Of course.” Snart didn’t seem to be leaving, just leaning against the wall still and he looked a little sleepy, and Barry’s next thought made him a little angry, “Snart… how did you get here?”

He waved a hand again, still a little too effusively, “don’ worry, Lisa won’t know where you live, I brought my bike over.’

“Your _bike_ —you drove _drunk_?”

“Not that drunk.”

“Oh right, like the slurring words together and the bet and the _giggling_ isn’t an indication that you’re wasted.” Leonard laughed again and it proved Barry’s point. “Jesus Christ, Snart, I thought you of all people were a little more careful than _that_.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” his voice turned growly and angry on a dime but Barry wasn’t having any of it.

“It means you’re not normally this much of a jackass. You could’ve got yourself killed.”

“My reflexes—”

“Are shot when you’re drunk just like everyone else’s, okay? I know this stuff, I work at the CCPD and I studied _chemistry_. You’re gonna’ get _someone_ killed, if not yourself.” He grabbed Snart’s arm and dragged him along toward the living room.

 

[ … ]

 

“What’re you doing, Barry?” Len finally thought to ask, letting the Flash drag him down the hall by a tight grip on his sleeve, stumbling only slightly at the surprise movement, earning another disapproving glare from Barry.

“I’m putting you to sleep on the couch.”

“What?” he hissed, yanking his arm free, but Barry just rolled his eyes and physically pushed Len to sitting on the couch. The fact that he actually flopped down onto it wasn’t helping his argument about allowable levels of sobriety.

“You’re too drunk to drive—I don’t care what you say—and I can’t exactly call a cab for Captain Cold.”

Len eyed him, and it wasn’t like there were two of Barry swimming in his vision or anything, he really _wasn’t_ wasted, it was just that the room was moving gently and ever so slightly and—

“Just try’n stop me, kid.” He moved to stand, not about to put up with this shit. Barry’s hand on his chest _did_ stop him though, and there was a glow of lightning in his eyes before Len felt every pocket on his jacket and then jeans being searched too fast for him to register before Barry was waving his keys in front of his face.

“You’ll get these back in the morning.”

“Barry—” it was angry and whiny at once and he moved forward either to clutch for the keys or to punch Barry—his fist would decide along the way?—but Barry was gone in a blink and Len stumbled.

It was too much effort to fight the speedster right now. He growled and sat back on the couch. He was feeling less sober the longer he spent in Barry’s apartment, somehow*. The line of shots Lisa had poured him 'for luck' right before he left probably had something to do with that. He didn’t even know he’d closed his eyes until something was dropped on his lap and he started suddenly, alert for a half second before looking down and seeing the blanket Barry had just dropped on him.

“You should at least take the jacket and gun off while you sleep. And don’t wear your muddy boots on my couch.”

“They aren’t muddy,” he complained, then frowned at himself for _that_ horrible comeback. “Fine. I’ll stay. You’re welcome.”

He glanced up at Barry’s face but in the lamplight; he just looked dark and annoyed. Then he stalked over to the kitchen and Len gave up, too tired suddenly to care all that much, shrugging out of the parka and taking off the gun holster, dropping them in a pile on top of the boots he kicked out of.

Barry dropped a glass of water on the coffee table in front of him.

“Get some sleep, Snart.”

“You too, Barry.” It was the only thing to say, really. The room was spinning a little more earnestly. Barry turned to go and flicked off the lamp, and Len couldn’t stop himself. “Hey, Barry?” his own voice sounded softer, more restrained. He wasn’t really thinking.

"Yeah?"

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine." The answer was short and the next thing Len heard was the sound of feet padding back toward the bedroom room before a door was being slammed. Alone on the couch, he nodded. He'd heard that one before. Said that one before. Fine. Barry woke up screaming in his sleep? Just peachy, then. Len knew a lot about being peachy.

He sighed and stretched out on the couch. Sleeping in his jeans was going to suck. Sleeping in his sweater was going to make him overheat in Barry's too-warm apartment. Where he shouldn't be sleeping anyway. He'd told Lisa he'd be back in an hour. She was probably passed out by now. He rolled onto his side and texted her: _crashing on Flash's couch. heroes take issue with driving under the influence. I'll catch up you tomorrow._

There was no response and Len wasn't especially surprised. He blinked blearily around and felt himself getting actually tired in the quiet, comfortable apartment, amidst the piles of things like books and files and knickknacks. His eyes started to droop, but he was still too warm, and gave in, pulling off his sweater—he'd put it back on in the morning, before Barry was up—and shimmying out of his black pants. Far more comfortable, he pulled up the blanket and nodded off.

 

[ … ]

 

Barry woke early in the morning. His sleep had been fitful the rest of the night, dozing in and out without getting deep again, leaving him awake and exhausted by the time early morning light was filtering in to his window. At least he _had_ slept though, which was better than most nights. His alarm wasn't set to go off for a while yet, but he turned it off and sat up. There was no point in trying to sleep, or even to lay and attempt. Might as well get up and get an early start.

He padded out of his room before he remembered he had a guest. Soft snores from the living room stopped him in his tracks, and Barry stepped far more quietly as he snuck toward the room to look at Leonard Snart from a safe distance, in much better light than the middle of the night had offered.

Any other night, he probably would've laughed to have a drunk Captain Cold show up and try to steal something. It was too ridiculous, really. But last night it had been awkward, to say the least. Barry peered down at him from across the room, noticing his clothes had made it onto the floor after all, one arm out from the blanket that was tucked up to his chest, wearing a tank top but Barry could see tattoos, one on his shoulder and another on his forearm, a third peaking up on his chest from under the undershirt.

 _That_ was something. Barry didn't really know what to do with the knowledge though, so he filed it away inside his head, smiling a little at Leonard's soft sleeping expression, lips parted slightly, for once no furrow between his brows. He wanted to wake the other man and tease him, but decided that he'd accomplish more if he made food and coffee first, something that would convince Snart to stick around for a bit so that Barry could prod at him and at least figure out what he'd been going to steal.

The kitchen and living room were mostly one open space in Barry's apartment. The kitchen was galley style, but the side facing out onto the living room was just an open counter. The stove was on the far wall as well, so except for when Barry ducked his head into the fridge, facing away from the living room, he was able to keep one eye on the couch across the space, watching Leonard slowly start to wake up from the sounds of cooking and the smell of bacon. After a few minutes of this, Barry heard a groan and tried to smother his own smile as the man slowly blinked open his eyes and closed them again in distaste against all the light in the room from the windows and kitchen. He started to sit just moments after that—'where the hell—' and he sounded groggy.

"Morning, Snart." Barry didn't bother to suppress the glee in his voice, taking a little too much pleasure in Snart's obvious hangover.

"Barry?"

"Coffee's almost ready."

Snart grunted and clearly tried to glare but he dragged a hand over his face so the effect was diminished. Barry took pity—mostly so he could gloat a little more—and zoomed to grab a bottle of pain meds before dropping it and a fresh glass of water on the coffee table, back at the stove before Snart could so much as blink.

"You're welcome."

Leonard's glare was a little more effective this time, but he grabbed the pills and Barry flipped the bacon while humming to himself.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Leonard hauling his clothes back on and tried not to look, or to stare, seeing that both his arms had tattoos before they disappeared into his sweater, seeing that even his underwear were black and his legs were surprisingly well muscled before he was in his pants. Barry focused on the hashbrowns he was frying and cracked an egg. "I hope you're not a vegetarian.”

"Are you making me breakfast?" Leonard stopped midway through reaching for his parka.

"I did just say that coffee's—" the coffee maker dinged "—ready."

He looked over and met Leonard's gaze, and the other looked suspicious before standing more fully, slowly coming toward the kitchen. His boots were on but not even laced up. "You know," he drawled, "most people don't make breakfast for would-be thieves."

Barry shrugged, "what's the fun in that? Besides, you were a pretty lousy thief last night."

Snart glared sharply, "something distracted me."

Barry breathed out through his nose and put the pan full of hashbrowns onto a hot pad on the small table, ignoring the comment and moving back to the stove for the eggs. "Hope scrambled is fine." He could feel Snart's eyes on his back. "And help yourself to coffee; mugs are in the cupboard above the maker."

Barry loosened a little when Snart moved to do just that; he grabbed two plates and split the eggs evenly onto them, bringing them to the table where the bacon and hashbrowns were waiting. He almost forgot to grab coffee, about to stand and do that, but Leonard dropped a mug next to him before sitting.

"Thanks."

"And thank you, for breakfast." It was cold but cordial, and Barry was glad for even footing again.

"How's the hangover?" His voice may have been a little delighted and Snart just stopped, glared, and pulled the bacon closer. "That bad, huh?"

"I've had worse," he shot back.

"You weren't blackout drunk though, right? Still remember your lame attempts to steal..."

"I'm not telling you what I came here to grab."

"Come _on_!"

Leonard snorted and started eating and Barry sat back and did the same. It was surprisingly easy to just sit and be for a few minutes, before they were finished with the food. They sipped their coffee for a bit longer and Barry started to wonder what one says when having breakfast with a nemesis, still trying to figure out what on earth Len would feel was worth stealing in his apartment.

“Hey, that reminds me,” a pointless non-sequitur when they hadn’t been talking, but Snart looked up from his coffee, “how’d you know where I live, anyway? I just moved this month.”

Leonard swirled his mug around, a bit more of his usual smirk showing as he arched an eyebrow. “You really don’t think I keep tabs on the Scarlet Speedster, Barry?”

“I… wait, so do you know my phone number too? And where I go for take out, and—“

“You really want me to answer that?”

“But— _hey_!” He wished he had a better argument than ‘hey’. His brain wasn’t fully awake yet after all, or so he’d claim.

“You can track my gun, can’t you?”

“So?”

“So knowing one another’s whereabouts goes both ways. Or haven’t you found me at S’n’S a few times, now?” he sipped his coffee with a smirk as if to say ‘so there’, cool and amused.

“I… fine. But I don’t _stalk_ you to get that information.”

“Deal with it.”

Barry sighed and sat back. “I should get ready for work.” He pointed to Leonard’s keys on the counter.

The other man nodded and headed back to the living room to collect his things, “thanks for breakfast.”

“No problem. Thanks for not stealing anything. But seriously, don’t drive drunk. I don’t know what the hell you’re thinking but that _is_ dangerous, and not just to you.”

Snart stared at him for a long second, then tipped his head forward, “fine, Barry. I’ll make a point of sobriety on my bike. But only because you didn’t burn the bacon.”

“I mean it.”

“So do I.”

Barry sighed, “fine.”

Snart had his gun holster on again and looked ready to go, heading toward the door. He stilled with his hand on the knob, looking over at Barry, who had stood up and was leaning against the counter.

“And thank you for…” Leonard waved vaguely at the couch, “your hospitality.”

Barry smiled, “you’re welcome.”

He was still there, though, something else passing across his face. “If you ever need to… I understand nightmares, and I sleep odd hours anyway. I’ll shoot you a text so you’ll have my number.”

Barry blinked, taking a moment to figure out why his heart was suddenly hammering. Was Snart offering to…what, talk? Stay up with him? He wasn’t sure, just confused, and maybe something more, but all he could think to say to Leonard’s carefully cold, intense not-glare was, “I’ll keep that in mind.”

With a decisive nod, the other man was gone.

 

[ … ]

 

Barry didn’t sleep all week.

Zoom was behind his eyelids each time he tried. It was worse now without Patty there, some presence near him most nights. He hadn’t realized what a difference it made, having someone nearby, in his bed, by his side. It helped him fall back to sleep, after the first nightmare, and kept some of them at bay, maybe. Now he felt like he was back at square one, back to how it had been the first two weeks after Zoom’s attack, healing his back, finding his speed, fighting Grodd. Grodd who also made an appearance in some of those dreams, along with Eobard, the singularity. At least his nightmares were branching out on occasion. But Zoom was always there, and he never left.

But even one of the other CSI’s at work had commented that Barry looked like shit, and Captain Singh had asked him if he was sleeping okay. The dark circles under his eyes weren’t telling any lies. Joe, Iris, they didn’t ask anymore, just cast him worried glances. At least he’d moved out of Joe’s, so now the other man didn’t have to wake up in the middle of the night to Barry’s screaming too. Caitlin and Cisco had both dropped comments in their own way, but Barry shut it down. There was nothing they could do—not even sleep pills would work with his metabolism—so it wasn’t worth talking about.

He tried to remember the last time he’d actually managed to get a half-decent night’s sleep. Not even great, or good, just… decent. It was a not-funny twist of fate that all he could think of was Patty, and of Leonard Snart, two people who didn’t belong in the same thought sphere at all. Patty, who pretended she didn’t notice or mind the nightmares after the first few times, who just put a hand on his arm or got him a glass of water when he woke her up, but learned to stop asking, and then learned to just reach out enough on the nights he didn’t full-fledge scream, to bump his shoulder or hip or foot with hers, just a single point of contact that would help anchor him, remind him he was safe.

And then last week, with Leonard in his apartment, when Barry had at least dozed, at least made it through a full night, woken up with the energy to cook and laugh, had smiled at something that didn’t feel forced, even if it was Snart’s somewhat pathetic snores and attempts to glare.

But Patty was gone, and Snart was… Snart. So Barry tucked himself in for another sleepless night and closed his eyes, trying to picture anything but blue lightning.

 

[ … ]

 

It was three days of sleepless nights later, zombie-like and exhausted, 3am and unable to do more than just break down and cry he was so tired, when Barry gave in and called Snart.

 

[ … ]

 

Leonard wasn’t really awake, but wasn’t totally asleep either. He’d been up late doing research on a gallery opening, and hadn’t reached any point of _deep_ sleep when his phone rang.

He was a little groggy though, and it took him until the second ring to become alert. Normally the only calls he got past midnight were on the side of emergencies. He relaxed a fraction when he saw the contact though—BA(F).

“Good evening,” he said and pinched the bridge of his nose, blinked the sleep from his eyes in the dark.

“H-hey, Leonard, it’s Barry…”

“I’m aware.” And by the sound of his voice, he actually _was_ calling fresh from a nightmare and not for some Flash-related thing. Len still wasn’t entirely sure what had possessed him to offer, except that Barry had shown him a lot of kindness, a degree to which he was unused to, between his couch and the blankets, the concern for his well being, the breakfast and coffee and hangover meds. He’d told himself it wasn’t sympathy, nor empathy over sleepless nights, nor the tug in his heartstrings at seeing Barry with fresh tears on his face in the middle of the night. It was just balancing the scales.

It took Barry a long time to talk again. That was fine by Len; he was patient. “I—could you—this was stupid, sorry, I just couldn’t sleep and I thought this would help, but I don’t…”

He sounded frustrated, and smaller over the phone than he was in real life. “What d’you need, Barry?”

“Nothing, sorry, I’ll—”

“I wasn’t asking to get you off the line. What can I do to help?”

There was a pregnant pause, and Barry’s voice sounded quiet and shaky—was he crying?—when it finally came through the receiver. “This is so stupid but I sleep better with…someone nearby. Even just in the next room, or…”

Ah. He wasn’t calling to talk, to have someone listen. Len got that, the comfort of having someone else around, someone who wouldn’t ask or judge. Even if he shouldn’t, Len found himself saying, “I can swing by.”

“Really?” The note of hope was just too much for him, already swinging his legs out of bed. He really didn’t need the Flash to see this side of him, but then again, his protective instincts were in full gear right now and he wasn’t one to wrestle with himself over things like this.

“I’ll be there soon.”

There was a sigh on the other end, a whispered ‘thanks’ before the line disconnected, and Len couldn’t bring himself to regret his choice. He got dressed, considered and dismissed packing an actual overnight bag—too domestic and presumptive by a mile—and drove his car instead of bike this time, much warmer at this time of night, and there was no traffic to get in his way anyway, the drive faster than he’d ever clocked it. This time, he actually used the buzzer instead of breaking in, and knocked on the door instead of picking the lock.

Barry opened the door in his sleepwear—flannel pants and a blue muscle shirt—with his hair a mess and a nervous cast to his face. Len could see it in the light from the hallway he was standing in, the apartment all dark behind Barry. “Hey…” he said quietly, letting Leonard in. This time, Len toed off his shoes, not combat boots like before. “Thanks for coming.”

“I offered.” He said like it was simple, because it was. He didn’t make offers in vain.

Barry nodded—Len could barely catch it in the dark—and started walking toward his room, and Len wasn’t sure what else to do but follow. When Barry sat on the side of his bed and bit his lip, a little more light in here from the bedroom window for Len to see it and he realized—Barry wouldn’t say it, was giving Len the option here, to turn around and crash on his couch, to sit on the floor, to lean against the wall and talk. But what Barry wasn’t saying was that he wanted someone _next_ to him.

Len wasn’t quite sure what to do with that. It seemed like Barry wasn’t about to talk to him, to open up to him, even if he obviously needed to talk to _someone_. But in the not-light, Len could make out the line of his jaw, if little else, and it had a stubborn set to it, someone ready for a challenge. He could only imagine how ready Barry must already be to banish Len to the couch (or farther) if he asked questions, and Len just… didn’t want to fight. Not about this. Not when he was already here, and it was the middle of the goddamn night. He sighed and uncrossed his arms from his chest, the natural pose he’d landed on while leaning in the doorway, then came over and sat next to Barry.

It was strange. This was strange. He knew it. He knew Barry must know it. But maybe it wouldn’t be so weird if they didn’t talk about it.

“You gonna’ lay down, get some rest?” Len ventured after a few minutes dragged on, quiet, just Barry’s steady breathing beside him.

“Hm? Oh… yeah.” Barry was more or less nodding off where he sat, and Len caught the glance out of the corner of Barry’s eye at him—Len had been staring at the side of Barry’s face while his eyes adjusted to the dark, because why not?—before the other shuffled back onto the bed more fully, laid himself down and pulled a blanket up to his waist, staring at the ceiling. “What about you?”

That was a good question, though Len preferred the tacit silence from before. Barry’s bed was big enough for two, a queen size, even if Barry was almost too tall to fit comfortably on it. Len wasn’t ready to just lie down next to the Flash and cuddle him back to sleep though, regardless of being here. So he moved instead to sit with this back to the headboard, knees up, feet on the bed. He was only a foot from Barry, but it was enough.

“I’ll stay for a while,” was all he decided on, and that seemed like enough for the other, who blew out a breath and shifted to lay partway on his side, facing away. Len let his eyes drift shut after a few minutes, felt Barry shifting again, getting comfortable, and he dozed.

 

[ … ]

 

In the night, Barry tossed and turned a little, but felt cool hands sift through his hair when he became restless, and he settled and curled closer to the source, relaxing back into sleep.

 

[ … ]

 

In the night, Len’s mostly asleep body started to stretch out and lay, coming close to consciousness at times, remembering where he was and settling in again, dropping a hand to Barry’s hair when he got restless to smooth it, carding through it until he was calm again, like Len’s mother used to do for him when he was really young.

 

[ … ]

 

Len woke up with a crick in his neck. He was on his side, sleeping half on pillows, fully dressed, and one hand was resting against Barry’s shoulder, his skin warm under Len’s touch. It took him a moment to get his bearings, taking his hand back and leaning up on his elbow, blinking around the room in the morning light. He hadn’t really planned on falling asleep, but then, he hadn’t really planned on any of the way the night had gone. As soon as he started shifting to sit though, stretching out his neck, Barry started to stir behind him.

“Leonard?” He sounded half asleep still.

“Bartholomew?” he replied, quirking his eyebrow, not that Barry could see it since Len was moving to sit with his legs over the side.

“I just…you’re still here.”

“That a problem, Red?” he drawled back, turning to glare but—

“No! No, I just didn’t…expect it.” Barry’s hand was halfway up but faltered and fell back down to the mattress. Blankets were pooled in his lap. “Thank you, for uh… you didn’t have to do this and… it means a lot.” He scratched the back of his neck and Len looked away. Barry was too open about everything, too earnest.

“You needed it.”

“I owe you one.”

Len tilted his head, not one to say no to that type of offer, except that he didn’t want to feel indebted if the kid _did_ do anything to try and clear his debt, because…“I broke into your apartment and slept on your couch. Consider us even.”

He stood and headed for the door then, not about to stay for breakfast a second time, or to wait around so that Barry could start trying to work on a ‘there’s good in you’ angle or something. But Barry was scrambling out of bed behind him—

“Hey, wait a sec—”

“ _What_?” he snapped, sharp and loud, surprised at his own sudden anger, making Barry step back. It felt wrong to be here, in the morning light, with Barry looking tousled but rested, lean and handsome, open. Len wasn’t supposed to know how he looked in bed in the morning and the sacrilegious knowledge was coiling inside him and working its way to anger in his throat.

Barry opened his mouth, closed it, looked down, breathed in, looked again at Len. Len shifted on his feet and tried to force himself to leave.

“That’s the best sleep I’ve had in… a long time. A _very_ long time.”

“You telling me you want to make this a regular thing?”

Barry’s eyes widened—“would you consider it?”

Len felt like ice. He knew it would be a bad idea. In the dark of the night, crazy ideas felt normal, acceptable, par for the course as the shadows obscured their oddity. In the morning the harsh light made them appear only as they were. “It’s a dangerous idea for us to keep this up, Barry.”

“Right. Yeah, you’re right of course, I—”

“If it gets bad,” he should stop talking, _really_ stop, and not say—“I’ll come around.”

Barry’s eyes flicked up to his and Len didn’t wait for whatever he was going to say, marching to Barry’s door and putting on his shoes, mindful of Barry’s gaze following his movements until he was gone.

 

[ … ]

 

Barry lasted thirteen days.

He tried other solutions. When Caitlin subtly hinted about his sleeping, about his tension, he forced himself to talk to her, to mention the nightmares, the insomnia, the nights spent staring at the ceiling. She hugged him, offered words of support, mentioned counseling, but he stared at the ceiling later that night and felt just as trapped. There were resources at the CCPD, people he could talk to, but what would he say, how could he explain? He didn’t need to skirt the issue, to layer his life in more lies, he just needed to stop Zoom.

But day twelve was just too much. Another Earth-2 meta, another close scrape, another message from Zoom, telling him to go faster, or he would _make_ Barry go faster. The Earth-2 meta was dead, an accident and he thought of Atom Smasher, of Multiplex, of Plastique—Bette—and their faces all haunted him. Joe asked if he was okay before letting him go home, and Barry knew that Joe knew, that Joe had heard the nightmares so many times while they’d lived together, before Barry had moved away, had needed to distance himself from everyone, everything, at least until... He wasn’t sure what, anymore. The nightmares had only got worse after Patty left, after Barry was truly alone.

Barry didn’t sleep at all that night. He even tried, for a while, but it didn’t happen. He ran the city instead, and forced himself through his next day of work by sheer force of will, earning a worried glance from the Captain again, when Barry had clumsily dropped a stack of folders, then later when he’d come to return a report to Barry and found him scrubbing up a spill in the lab. Barry could barely keep himself together, but put on a smile and thanked the Captain for returning the file anyway. That he didn’t get any shit for the spill was telling enough about how bad he must’ve looked. He wondered what would happen if he was that clumsy when he was stopping criminals, fighting a meta. Would he trip, would he fail?

The night after that, Barry screamed himself awake.

 

[ … ]

 

Len was startled awake by a call in the middle of the night, jump-alert before he registered where the sound was coming from. He looked at the call display and sighed. Fuck.

“Barry,” he answered.

“Hey,” his voice sounded hoarse. “I… look, I know that you don’t want, that this isn’t—”

“It’s fine.” It wasn’t, not really. Part of him wondered why Barry couldn’t just _hire_ someone to sleep near him, though on a CCPD salary maybe that wouldn’t fly. But the kid had friends, didn’t he? “I’ll be by soon.”

“Thank—”

Len hit ‘end’. He’d had two weeks almost to think about the strange nights he’d spent at Barry Allen’s apartment. In that time, he’d visited Keystone, pulled off a small job, and mostly suppressed the intimate knowledge of Barry’s bad nights. But no way he turned it in his mind made any more sense—how he’d let himself end up in bed with the Flash, how he’d become Barry’s go-to middle of the night call, it just didn’t line up. He wasn’t very good at forgetting it, at repressing it, as it turned out.

But Len was out of bed anyway and driving over in record time.

 

[ … ]

 

Barry wrapped a light throw blanket around his shoulders and waited on the floor near the door for Snart. He’d already texted him his building code, as if the man needed it to get past the cheap security. But Barry didn’t really want to go back in his room right now, not after… it was so much easier when he was awake. Asleep, all he felt was helpless, like he’d felt that night against Zoom, carted around, waiting to die. In his sleep, all he _could_ do was wait to die and—

Barry inhaled deep and wiped the tears off his cheeks. All he wanted to do was protect the people he loved. Why was that so hard? With the metas from Earth-2, with Harry around now, with Jay’s illness, with _Zoom_ —all Barry could feel was like things were spiraling further and further out of control. At least Patty and his father were far away, and Linda was in Coast city. Joe and Iris, Caitlin and Cisco, that many was still too many but—

There was a knock at the door. Barry jumped to his feet and opened it, trying not to be too excited, too relieved, to rely on this too much.

Leonard Snart.

Leonard looked tired, and Barry felt a pang of guilt, knowing he’d woken the other man up, but he was desperate, and willing to give something in return, pretty much whatever he could, at his point. “Thank you for—”

“You look like shit.”

Snart walked into the dark apartment and Barry sighed and closed the door, locking it behind him.

“Do you have a ‘brood in the dark’ issue, Barry?”

“Huh—oh. I just, I know my way around, I guess—here,” he zoomed to the hall and turned on that light, making them both wince at the sudden brightness. “Better?”

Leonard studied his face, and whatever he saw there, he seemed to sigh, resigned.

“I’m sorry for asking.” Barry was, even though he knew that didn’t help. “I—”

“Owe me?” The other man looked amused for a second, “just get your ass to bed, we can talk in the morning.”

Barry hesitated then nodded, feeling a little silly, suddenly, with his blanket around his shoulders like it was, but Len followed him anyway, shrugging out of his leather jacket when he got to Barry’s room and tossing it onto his dresser. Barry slid into bed, and this time, without complaint, Leonard moved onto the bed and stretched out, on top of the blankets and still dressed. He flicked off the lamp that Barry had turned on.

Barry could only imagine how awkward this was for him, and still couldn't figure out why he came at all, except that there was more generosity in himself than he’d admit, more pity maybe.

“Do you… want some pajamas? I have spare blankets, too.”

“I’m fine.”

“Really it’s—” he leaned up scratched the back of his neck in the dark, “you should at least be comfortable.”

He heard Len sigh in the dark beside him. “Why me?”

Barry’s mouth worked, but for a minute, no sound came out. He hadn’t been expecting the sudden question, but it made sense. He sat up a little more, curled himself over his legs. “You already know my secret. But you don’t… I can’t ask someone I know. Caitlin has Jay, Iris and Joe are family and it’s…” he wrinkled his nose, “no. And Cisco is… he’s going through more than he lets on, and I don’t know how to help, so all I can do is just… not add to it.” Beside him, he felt Leonard sit up too, saw his silhouette in the dark, faint highlights on his face from the city light streaming in through the window. Barry glanced at him, then down at his hands. “And you’re not someone Zoom will use against me.”

The moment stretched, long, and then, “okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay. Get me some pajama pants.”

Barry took a second to register that then sped out of bed and back, handing them to the other man. He stood up and changed in the dark, pulled off his sweater and slid under the covers.

“Try to sleep.”

“You too.” He wanted to thank Leonard, to apologize again, but he kept getting cut off whenever he tried, so he just laid down, and did what Leonard told him. He tried to sleep.

 

[ … ]

 

Len managed to sleep, though it was a light rest, often broken. Barry whimpered in his sleep and Len debated rousing him, but knew that unless it got bad, it was kinder to let him sleep—he needed it, obviously, and he was more likely to forget the dreams if he wasn’t woken halfway through them. Len didn’t sleep on his side if he could help it, always got a sore neck when he did, making sure to sleep on his back most nights. Barry slept on his stomach. Whenever he tossed and turned, he ended up back on his front after, mostly still until something upset him in his sleep and he rolled over to escape it.

Len wasn’t supposed to know these things about Barry Allen. His phone number, address, friends—those were safe. This was a blurred line he didn’t know how to navigate.

Barry whimpered again and distracted him, and Len reached out a hand, tentative, then carded it through Barry’s hair. He’d been mostly asleep when he’d done it before, and had no excuse now, but Barry quieted under it, and Len found himself relaxing. So be it.

 

[ … ]

 

He woke with Barry curled into his side. Barry was still asleep, and Len’s arm was most of the way around him, Barry using it as a pillow. Its numbness must’ve been what woke him up. That and the contact; Len wasn’t used to people cuddling him while he slept, or at all really. Contact was something he shied away from.

This was going to be a problem. Len wasn’t quite sure yet what type of problem, or how big of one, but bed-sharing with Barry Allen was going to be an issue. And he did mean ‘ _going_ to be’ because he knew, Barry’s breath steady by his shoulder, that he wasn’t going to ignore the call the next time Barry needed him here. One thing that Len didn’t like to admit was that when asked, when pressed, he almost always gave in to someone who needed him. It wasn’t a matter of being good, it was just a matter of being shit at saying ‘no’ to neediness; it reminded him too much of his childhood, of help never coming, of never wanting to leave anyone in a lurch like he had been, even if it was what allowed him to survive all this time, hardening up because he had to.

But Barry was plenty grown, plenty hardened, and still at the end of this rope. Len couldn’t blame him for that, but he could help Barry get enough sleep, or _any_ sleep, apparently.

His moved his numb arm, trying to get feeling back into his fingers, and found them drifting toward Barry’s skin.

This was going to be a problem for _many_ reasons.

He pulled his arm out from under the other, and Barry grumbled quietly, then blinked open his eyes. “Morning?”

“Yeah Barry, morning.”

They were closer than they should be, and after a second of sleepy blinking that was _not_ adorable, Barry seemed to realize that too, and moved back, sitting up—“crap, sorry, I must’ve moved in my sleep.”

“You did. It’s fine. You slept, that’s what matters.”

“Did you? Sleep?”

Len nodded to the side, “I dozed, slept enough.”

Barry ran a hand through his messy hair, “you said… in the morning, we’d talk?”

He hadn’t meant while he was wearing Barry’s pajamas and laying in his bed. Len rolled his eyes and got out of the bed, scooping up his clothes from the floor. “I’m gonna’ need to take a piss and have a cup of coffee before I talk about anything, Barry.”

 

[ … ]

 

Barry fretted over the coffee maker, making bacon. He felt like he was making breakfast after a hookup, except that this definitely wasn’t a hook up. He wasn’t sure what it was, except that it was the thing allowing him to make it through a night without choking up sobs or screaming, and Barry didn’t want to let go of that now that he’d found it, needing at least one night in a fortnight to actually rest. He wasn’t useful to anyone otherwise.

“Smells good in here.”

Barry looked over his shoulder and caught himself smiling, if softly. He’d gotten dressed in a flash before coming out to cook, feeling a little more himself when he was up and doing things, a little more on an even footing with Leonard, who was in the same clothes he’d come over in.

Not that much unlike a hook up, in some ways.

“Coffee will just be a minute.”

“You work today?”

“Not for a while,” Barry waved his hand, “it only takes a few seconds to get there from here.”

“Must be handy.”

He shrugged, “I’m late less ‘n I used to be. Also disappear in the middle of the day to fight crime a lot more.”

Leonard huffed out an amused sound, pouring himself coffee as soon as the coffee maker dinged. “You’re chipper this morning.”

“I actually slept.”

“Right,” Leonard said, just that simple syllable, and sipped his coffee.

“So…” Barry said, turning to face the other and leaning against the counter. He wasn’t sure what Snart was going to ask for in exchange, but he was keen to get some confirmation that he’d return if asked, at least before he stomped out of the apartment like last time.

“Level with me, kid. How bad is it?”

Barry looked down. There was no point in lying, not to Snart. “It’s bad… I just _don’t_ sleep. Haven’t slept. Last night was the first time in two weeks I got more than two hours of undisturbed sleep straight.”

“…two weeks is the last time you called me over here.”

Barry’s expression faltered. He glanced at Len then away, ashamed. “Yeah.”

“And before that?”

There had been a time where Barry was good at being open and honest. He wasn’t sure when it had become so hard. “The only times in the past couple months that I’ve slept through the night are the times you’ve been around. You or…”

“Or?”

“Patty, my ex.” He chewed the inside of his lip.

Leonard nodded like he was processing that. “So it’s not just me?”

His heart clenched, not wanting some other substitute, not if he could convince Len—“I woke up screaming with Patty around too, I just… it wasn’t every night. And it helps that you… know.”

Leonard nodded, _hmm_ ’d, sipped his coffee. “But you don’t sleep without someone else there?”

Barry poured himself some coffee, for something to do. The food was going to get cold but it didn't really matter. “Seems like it.”

“And you need as much sleep as a normal person?”

“Ah—not exactly. I can stretch my sleep in a way most people can’t, but I still need _some_ to do that.”

“How many nights a week do you _need_ sleep?”

He’d never really calculated it out like that. Caitlin would probably have a calculation somewhere. “By the third day like this, I start to really feel it. But it’s not like I don’t notice every time I don’t get any sleep.”

He sipped the coffee, wishing it did something for him other than taste good.

“Every third day.”

“Hm?” Barry glanced up from his mug.

“You need me to stay over every third day?”

Barry almost dropped the mug in shock, but didn’t. “That’s—I can’t, wouldn’t, ask for that much, Leonard. I just—even if it’s once every _ten_ days, or twelve, I’ll take it.”

Leonard sighed, eyes flicking up and holding Barry’s gaze and he felt like he was being evaluated, considered. “Every three days, unless you have someone other than me to take shifts.”

Barry shook his head jerkily and the other man nodded like he’d expected as much. “Wha—uh—what do you want in return?” His throat felt a little dry. Leonard Snart wasn’t offering him every third night of his life for the foreseeable future for nothing.

“I’ll think about it.”

“You’re actually going to do this?” He couldn’t quite believe it.

“The city needs the Flash, the Flash needs to sleep, and it’s not a great burden to crash here.” It was clear he was trying to downplay it, especially when he added, “and you _do_ owe me.”

Barry nodded, eyes wide, and Leonard set down his coffee. “Good. See you in a few days.”

He left without eating breakfast, but Barry felt lighter than he had in a long time.

 

[ … ]

 

Len gave an abridged explanation of his situation to Lisa, who managed to laugh her ass off, tease him, look concerned, and pump him for information, all at the same time.

“Don’t tell Mick.”

“Obviously, Lenny,” she rolled her eyes. “So are you fucking him then?”

“B—The Flash?” Her eyes twinkled at his near-miss. “No, not that.”

“Hmm, you’re gonna’ regret this.”

He sat back in his chair and tapped his fingers on the table, thought about what Barry had mentioned that morning, his ex named Patty. “I already do.”

 

[ … ]

 

By day three, Barry _was_ feeling it, but it wasn’t as atrocious as it had been before. He was managing. The little bit of sleep he’d scraped in the previous nights had helped, his powers letting him dilate time if he wasn’t in a deep sleep, getting a greater _sense_ of restedness, even if he wasn’t truly getting more rest. Caitlin had told him before that it wasn’t a proper fix, that his body still needed normal sleep, but it made things manageable. Some nights, the insomnia was worse than the nightmares. At least when he had nightmares, he was sleeping. The nights he didn’t sleep at all, visions haunting his awake senses as he laid in bed, false imaginings until he got up and _ran_ —those nights were probably the worst.

Barry was finishing up his rounds when Len texted him to ask what time he should come by.

 _I’ll be done running by 10, and in a perfect world I try to crash by midnight_.

Len didn’t respond, but there was a knock on his door at 11:30 and he answered it with a tentative smile. It was the first time that Len had shown up when Barry wasn’t in pajamas yet. And he had a bag this time.

“Hey.”

“Barry.”

Len came in and headed for the bedroom. “I’ll be reading.”

Barry didn’t really know what to say, so he nodded and just… let him. He was still curious what Len had intended to steal the first time he was there. But he returned to his laptop to finish the episode of TV he’d been streaming on Netflix, conscious of the fact that Len was in his bedroom, apparently reading a book. He chewed on his thumb a little, more nervous than he’d been any other time Len was there. This was different; Len was the one waiting for _him_ to come to bed.

Come to bed. It sounded strange inside his own head. He was sharing a bed— _his_ bed—with Leonard Snart. Who he apparently cuddled closer to in his sleep. Who was willing to put up with this hell for some reason that Barry hadn’t figured out yet, but was grateful for while it lasted.

He closed his laptop and did his evening routine, something that involved a shower and he found himself stalling just a little before he entered his bedroom with only a towel around his waist. He hadn’t thought it through.

Len was in pajamas already, his own this time, sitting with his back against the headboard, legs stretched out, reading a science fiction novel. Something in Barry relaxed and he closed the door behind him, walking to his closet and pulling on pajamas, self-conscious enough to use his speed to do it. Then he was slipping into bed beside Len.

“I’ll turn the light out when I’m done this chapter.”

“Sure.”

Barry laid down, first on his side, then on his stomach, sighing a little, feeling his exhaustion overtake him. He really _was_ exhausted. Just. So tired. All the time. And he… he was… something…drowsy, maybe, or… the light turned off, “hm?”, and that was nice… things were…

 

[ … ]

 

Barry woke with a yell, flailing upward.

“Hey, hey—it’s okay—”

“What—” Barry gulped in air, sweat covering his body. It was pitch black, he was in his room, a reassuring hand was on his back. He was okay. He didn’t have a hole in his stomach. He wasn’t watching Caitlin and Cisco die. They were alive. It was okay. They were alive. He was alive. He swallowed, shuddered. “What time…?”

“It’s just after four.”

He let out a breath. “Four hours, that’s pretty good.” He leaned into Len, who was sitting up next to him. “Thanks.” Barry felt chill, the sweat on his skin cooling, but his heart rate was slowing. The hand on his back paused and then resumed, softer now on the outside of his tee.

“You wanna’ talk about it?”

“Not really.”

He could feel Len nod, and Barry knew he was taking advantage; their little deal, whatever it was, wasn’t meant to involve reassuring hands rubbing circles onto his back, or Barry leaning in close enough to feel the other nod, tucking himself along Len’s shoulder. So he moved away with a small feeling of loss, an extra chill. Len’s skin was warmer than he would’ve guessed.

“Thanks for waking me.”

Len moved, and a second later he was handing Barry water off the nightstand. “Drink. Relax.”

Barry followed his directions without question, handing the water back when he was done and lying back down, just up on his elbows. “You’re good at this.”

“Sleeping?” He could hear the teasing note in Len’s voice.

“You know what I mean.”

“I plead the fifth.”

Barry’s eyes were adjusted enough to see Len lay back down on his side, facing Barry. He snorted, “you’re a criminal, you would.”

“Mm.”

Barry laid back down and tried to rest. It took a while, but he was pretty sure he made it there eventually.

 

[ … ]

 

Len woke up not-quite-cuddling Barry, but Barry was moving and waking, and Len was the second to rouse, this time. Barry was sitting up and stretching like a cat by the time he blinked his eyes open.

“You up?” Barry yawned at him.

“Am now.”

“Coffee?”

“Always.” He needed coffee to deal with the fact that he was really doing this, really becoming Barry’s sleeping partner, really having to deal with him showing up mostly naked and dripping wet in the bedroom the night before, having to ignore the way his own heart was starting to get pulled around by how Barry cried or shouted in his sleep.

He definitely needed coffee.

 

[ … ]

 

They developed a routine. Len arrived around 11:30, changed and got ready for bed, and often had a book. But it didn’t take too long for it to branch out, for Len to walk in when Barry was watching a show he happened to like, or had a comment about some news article, sometimes sitting in the living room to chat about it or watch something. Sometimes Len arrived earlier to catch the show or to have more time to read, now spending more of his time in the decently comfortable recliner chair adjacent to the couch.

They texted, too. Barry let him know if he would be too busy on Flash business to make it home that night, and they rescheduled. Len texted Barry when he was dragged out for a drink with Mick, and promised he would only have two and be safe to drive, just late by the time he showed up. Barry offered to pick him up and Len almost laughed at the thought, not about to genuinely accept a ride from the Flash.

“I really did mean it about the drunk driving,” Barry said when he got in that night, still awake and waiting up for Len.

“It’s not a habit, Barry. I realize that it’s dangerous. Though I’ll argue that you’re not taking into account experience, blood alcohol tolerance built up over a lifetime, and my reflexes.”

“You know how many scenes I’ve had to process that involved a drunk driver?”

Len frowned, stomach clenching. “As I said, not a habit.”

“Why do it at all?”

“I got too drunk, Lisa got drunk, and we egg each other on to do stupid shit when we get that way.” He only _ever_ got drunk alone or around her, no one else, and the same went for her. It wasn’t something either let happen often, because as often as not, he did something completely asinine like get on his bike and decide to rob the Flash. At least Lisa just got weepy and passed out.

“I just… you’re too noble to die like that.”

Len glanced at him then sighed. “It won’t happen again.”

He resisted the urge to kiss the worry lines from Barry’s face and put on his pajamas instead, reading until Barry came to bed.

 

[ … ]

 

They didn’t talk about it when they started sleeping closer to one another. Barry was restless when he was dreaming and Len would shake him awake if it got to be too much, but otherwise let it be, and Barry would always settle in closer after a bout of moving around, gravitating toward Len. For his own part, he tended to stretch out as he got more used to Barry’s bed, to Barry’s presence there too, and found himself at ease with their feet touching, their shoulders, or his arm flung out and resting above Barry’s head sometimes, hair brushing the underside of his tricep.

They didn’t talk about it when they sometimes woke up spooning, varying on who was big or little spoon, and no comments were made about either of their morning woods, something that only started happening anyway after they both were getting enough rest and not up or restless most of the night.

 

[ … ]

 

It had been over a month. Len didn’t want to admit that it was getting harder to fall asleep in his own bed, without Barry next to him, and easier and easier to fall asleep in Barry’s apartment, in Barry’s bed. Even on the nights Barry woke up screaming anyway, Len still felt more rested after staying over there than his own place.

 

[ … ]

 

“Hey Len?”

“Yeah Barry?” They were laying parallel in bed, not touching, not yet sleeping but Len had been getting close. Now he was staring at the ceiling and braced himself for some deep, personally penetrating question. That’s what people whispered about quietly in the middle of the night, right?

“Why are pigeons such jerks?”

“… _what_?”

“When I’m running, you’d be amazed at how many pigeons I have to dodge. They’re always in the way, and they start to take off when I’m heading in their direction—I think I spook them. But then I’m dodging a minefield of pigeons.”

Len almost laughed, trying to picture it. “You know the pigeons are probably asking the same question—why is that red lightning guy such an asshole?”

Barry barked out a laugh beside him, loud in the quiet room. “Oh man, all we need is a meta who can control birds. I’m sure they’d be happy to gang up on me.”

Len smirked in the dark, “you’ve seen the Hitchcock movie, right?”

“…no?”

“Mm, it’s called The Birds. You should watch it.”

“Do you have it?”

He actually did. “Yeah. Should I bring it over?”

“Yeah… And Len?”

“Mm?”

“Thanks. For… everything. This month has been a lot better than I was ever hoping for.”

“Mhmm.”

“Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Barry.”

 

[ … ]

 

They’d stopped sticking to the schedule; Len was over almost every night. He had long-since left things at Barry’s, sleepwear and a toothbrush, a few shower-related items from the times he’d showered there in the morning. Barry tried not to relish it too much, knowing it couldn’t last forever, but finding a surprising amount of comfort in Len’s presence in his home at all. Len even started bringing his own laptop by, discussing art and other things with Barry, but only things he’d already stolen in the past and wanted to discuss. Barry rolled his eyes, but it was hard to deny how pleased Len would get when detailing to Barry how he’d perfectly executed some job, and Barry was soon being treated to second-by-second (seriously) replays of some of his older, more favorite heists.

Barry smiled through it, surprising himself, but Len’s charm made it easy, and it was a gift to hear someone talk so eloquently about something they were so passionate about, even if it was approximately the antithesis of what Barry stood for. Their deal still stood, and the Flash didn’t bother Captain Cold on heists, not that he did them very often, only once since they’d started sleeping together.

Not _sleeping_ together. Just co-sleeping. Barry bit the inside of his lip at his distracted train of thought. Len didn’t, wouldn’t, want to sleep with him in any more ways than he already was, and Barry wasn’t about to make him awkward by bringing it up. He also wasn’t about to risk losing this.

 

[ … ]

 

Barry slipped up and outed himself to his friends, about how Len had been staying over. It was probably only a matter of time. He was good at keeping secrets, very good by this point, but Cisco and Caitlin were the people he was used to being honest around. He shouldn’t have mentioned that he had plans with Len that night when they asked him if he wanted to grab drinks after his rounds though. That had been spectacularly dumb.

He’d made his way back to the lab, and then explained, a little haltingly, what that situation was. They both interrupted at times, in their own ways—Cisco with a few swears, a movie reference somehow proving this was a bad idea, Caitlin with indignation and alarm, calculated mistrust that Cisco nodded along to. But both of them listened, and the more he told them, the more their faces went from stern to pinched, to sad and worn, to understanding if confused.

“We knew you were sleeping better, running faster… I mean it was clear that things were getting smoother, we just didn’t realize…” Caitlin looked at Cisco,

“That you were cuddling up with Captain Cold to get there.” He had a disapproving twinge in his voice, and Barry looked at him a little hopeful.

“Len’s the only reason I don’t scream myself awake at nights, Cisco.”

He looked like Barry had punched him in the gut for a second, then his shoulders drooped. “I get it, man, I’m not… judging. I get nightmares too, maybe not like you, but I’d still do pretty much anything not to have them. I just worry about what’s gonna’ happen when he stops coming around? Are they gonna’ start up again? This ain’t a permanent solution, dude.”

Barry nodded, stomach clenching. He knew that. “It won’t matter after we stop Zoom.”

Caitlin put a hand on his arm, “and you’re sure you can trust him? That he won’t… use this against you somehow?”

Barry nodded, “I’m sure. He’s had a million chances to hurt me and all he does is… the opposite, really.” He thought about the reassuring hand that was always at his back, the way he leaned against Len for support without thinking, the gentle brush of lips near his temple when he was shaky and close to tears, or actually crying, and the warm arms around him when that happened. “Whatever he ends up asking in return for what’s he’s done for me, I owe him that much and probably a lot more.”

She bit her lip but nodded and squeezed his hand, and Cisco nodded too, both of them worried around the eyes but supportive.

“Are you gonna’ tell Iris and Joe?”

Barry breathed out through his nose. “They’ve got a lot on their plate, with everything Wally’s going through with Francine’s death. I will but… all in due time, you know?”

They nodded, and that was that. Barry felt a little lighter when he made it home that night, when Len got there and sat beside him on the couch to watch the next episode of the series they were going through. Barry nodded off on the couch, Len’s arm around his shoulder, and they both woke up hours later from soreness in their now-uncomfortable resting pose, instead of from bad dreams. Trudging to bed and falling into it beside Len, Barry thought it might be the best possible way to wake up, the best possible way to fall back asleep.

 

[ … ]

 

Barry woke up to the now-familiar sensation of been cuddled by Len. It would be surreal if it hadn’t been such a gradual shift. He could tell from Len’s breathing that he wasn’t awake yet, and Barry’s own brain was just coming online, relishing the feeling of drowsiness after having actually slept. He was warm, everything felt soft, Len’s arm around his waist, the sound of his breathing and the tickle of air on Barry’s hairline with each exhale. The only thing that wasn’t soft was the erection pressing insistently against the cleft of Barry’s ass, something that was becoming more distracting the more awake he grew.

It wasn’t like Len was the only one who was hard either, and though Barry was happy to just play it off as a chemical reaction, the release of testosterone in his sleep, he knew it was more than that. That he didn’t _mind_ Len pressed up against him like this, that he was enjoying it, that he’d long since started to care about Len, to want him near, that he’d caught himself daydreaming about dates, about kisses… all of that was something that they were probably going to have to deal with, sooner or later.

Barry’s alarm went off and he sighed and hit it, Len mumbling behind him and waking up slightly. He rolled over then, so that they were face to face, Len’s arm resting still around his middle as the other blinked his eyes open. Barry was careful not to press in too close, not to press his raging hard on against Len’s hip.

“’Morning.”

“Morning, Barry.”

“I slept well last night.”

Len started to nod then yawn, retracting his hand from Barry’s side to cover his mouth even though Barry was already caught up in it, yawning himself, stretching. Len sat up and stretched too, and it felt like such a lazy, perfect morning.

“You got any fun plans for the day?” Barry asked, delaying getting out of bed, feeling more comfortable than he had in a while.

Len glanced over his shoulder at him, “mm? Oh, nothing really. Why?”

Barry sat up and shrugged, caught himself brushing arms with Len, “no reason I guess. I just have today off, and that doesn’t happen too often on the days you stay over.”

“Mm, you’re a busy bee. Even when you’re not at work you’re off saving the city.”

“Someone’s gotta’ do it.” He smiled. “Assuming no one tries to take over, destroy, steal, or otherwise screw up Central today though, you wanna’ grab brunch or something? It’s Saturday and I don’t feel like cooking.”

“Sure thing.”

 

[ … ]

 

Len had known it would be a problem and it was, always had been really. The more sleep Barry got, the less he looked like a kicked puppy and the more he looked like himself. But that also translated into Len being reminded of his humor and strength, eyes drawn to his arms in those muscle shirts he wore to bed, to the column of his neck when he stretched, the mussed look to his hair each morning.

It meant that Len got used to Barry waking up in his arms, or the rare times when Barry was spooning his side. That he got used to the smell of Barry’s hair and skin and the way these things felt under his fingers, more contact with a single individual than he’d had in… he wasn’t sure if he’d _ever_ had so much contact with a single individual, at least not like this.

Even his relationship partners had always seen less of him than Barry had recently, certainly less cuddling, less ease and comfort in one another’s space. That might’ve had to due partly with him dating other criminals or else because he seemed doomed to short relationships, but he assumed it had as much to do with how long it took him to get used to others in his space. But all the time he spent with Barry, the natural routine, made it easier.

But it was a problem. And one he wasn’t sure what to do with. He didn’t want it to end, didn’t want to stop coming by when Barry stopped needing a sleep crutch. He was getting attached, _far_ too attached. He was enjoying this, which seemed cruel, because Barry was only doing this, sharing this, out of necessity. Or, had shared his bed out of necessity. The rest, Len wasn’t so clear about—the breakfasts and the brunches, the TV shows and the cuddling, the moments where Len was sure Barry was about to kiss him, about to bridge that divide when he looked at him, inches apart, but didn’t.

Len’s chest had started to ache with want in a way he hardly recognized.

 

[ … ]

 

“Hey Len?”

“G’morning Barry.”

Barry had already been up for a little while, staring at Len’s sleeping face in the morning light. It was one of his favorite things, even if it made him want things he couldn’t have.

“You never did tell me what you were coming here to steal that night.”

Len groaned and rolled over, “you’re too damn persistent.”

Barry smiled and curled up behind him, glad for the excuse to touch, to enter Len’s space, to curl an arm around him and hook his chin over Len’s shoulder to smirk. “Does that mean you’re gonna’ tell me?”

Len blew out a long, put upon sigh, “it’s not that exciting. It’s a little anti-climactic, really.”

“That’s even better.”

“Well first, I was supposed to find a photo of Cisco somewhere to prove it was really your apartment.”

Barry snorted, but it made sense, knowing Lisa, and he _did_ have a photo frame with a picture of Cisco and Caitlin in his living room.

“And then…and know that in my defense, Lisa was a lot more drunk that I was…” Oh this was gonna’ be good, Len never hesitated like this. “Then, I was supposed to steal all of your underwear so we could confirm that for one day at least, you were going commando in that suit.”

Barry laughed so hard that Len pushed him out of bed.

 

[ … ]

 

Barry had bruises, was injured when Len got there one night.

“What happened?”

“Another meta from Earth-2… I think…” his hands stilled. He was standing in his kitchen, holding a mug of herbal tea, staring down into it. Len felt nervous, suddenly.

“Barry?”

“I think he’s going to make his move soon.”

“Ah. But you have a plan, with what you learned from Eobard Thawne?” Barry had filled him in on some very strange details about his world over the nights they’d spent together.

“Yeah.”

Len came up behind him, wrapped his arms around Barry, hands over Barry’s on the mug of tea, slowly peeling them away so that he could hug him properly. Barry turned in his arms and hugged him back, hands tight in the back of Len’s sweater. “I’m scared,” he admittedly softly, shakily, into Len’s neck. He rubbed circles into Barry’s back.

“Of course you are.” He had every reason to be, from everything Len had heard. Zoom was another level of horror.

“If I fail… I don’t want him to hurt anyone I care about. I don’t want him to hurt you.”

Len’s heart clenched in his chest. “He won’t.”

“If I can’t win—”

“You will.”

Barry nodded, breathing more evenly. His heartbeat started to slow, chest to chest, but Len’s started to beat faster.

“When?”

“I think… this week, at least. Soon.”

Too soon, then. “Barry…”

Barry stepped back, and Len cupped his jaw and kissed him. Barry kissed him back, breathing in a shocked breath through his nose but he kissed Len back. Len felt something inside him untangle, moving his mouth against Barry’s.

It was selfish, really, because it was what _he_ wanted, and he wasn’t really considering what would happen if it wasn’t what Barry wanted, whether he’d push Len away, sleep alone, _not_ sleep, or whether he’d reciprocate even if he didn’t want it, just so that he didn’t _have_ to go back to being alone.

That last thought forced Len to pull away.

He thumbed over Barry’s cheek, pressed their foreheads together, drew in a breath. “You don’t have to do this if you’re not interested. What we’re doing here doesn’t have to change.” He needed Barry to know that much at least, to make sure that it was out there.

“I want it. I never thought you would, but I—I’ve wanted this for a long time.”

That was all Len needed to know. They were kissing again and it was unlike all the kisses before it that Len could remember. It had passion but feeling, soft but deep, and he craved more but he didn’t feel any desire to rush forward. The mix of contrasts left him aching in previously unknown ways.

His hands carded into Barry’s hair, Barry’s around his waist, and when they made their way to the familiar bedroom, it all felt new again. Barry was shy of Len taking off his shirt, and Len was shy of the same, no where near the leanness, the muscle of Barry’s toned body, the one he claimed was too skinny but just looked gorgeous to Len, having worked hard many times to peel his eyes away from it.

Barry kissed and licked at his tattoos, admitted with a blush that his last time with another man had been years prior, in college, and Len probably shouldn’t have found it endearing that he could blush to his chest. Len encouraged Barry to open him up, found out that his powers had some _fascinating_ benefits, and they spent a lot of time on that part alone, Barry’s fingers stretching Len out. He shuddered with pleasure when Barry finally pressed inside him, would’ve been embarrassed by the needy noises he was making except that Barry was making ones that were far more shameless, moaning things in Len’s ear that left him breathless, left him kissing Barry hard because it was all he could think to say or do in response except to rock his hips up and pull his legs tighter around Barry, bringing him in closer, deeper.

Barry looked deific when he came, some demigod with a long-forgotten title inscribed in the tomes of hallowed halls. He was beautiful, torso stretched upward, panting, sweat sheened and hair like a dark halo around his head. Len groaned at the sight, at the sudden, intense vibration inside him, around him, part of him, with Barry’s hand on him too, and everything went white as he clutched Barry and let go.

After, loose and relaxed, smiles all around, they cleaned up and readied themselves for bed, Barry changing the sheets at lightning speed. They didn’t bother with pajamas. And Barry curled in close, and whispered that he loved Len, that it had crept up on him but it was there, beating away inside his chest, that he was in love and terrified because of it.

“I love you more than I know what to do with, Len,” he whispered. Len swallowed at the onslaught of emotion wracking him, at the sting in his eyes.

“I love you too, Barry.” It was terrifying how much, how easily, how fully. “And you owe me, still, after all. So consider this me cashing in: you damn well better not die, okay? Give me that much and I’ll be happy.”

 

[ … ]

 

Barry was everything he had been over the past few months, magnified. He was exhausted, bloodied, battered and bruised. But he was victorious.

It ached, the cost of winning.

Len was at the lab, waiting. Barry had explained to Joe two days ago, and Iris the day prior. Joe understood better than Barry had ever expected, but had heard Barry’s screams from the months he was living in his home, and wouldn’t begrudge almost anything in Barry’s life that had the power to assuage those screams. He was worried, but hearing it had been going on for as long as it had, a steady and natural progression that had built to what it was—that confirmation helped loosen Joe a bit. There would be things to work out, with Barry’s job, with what it would mean to be with Captain Cold, but Joe promised his support, so long as Leonard planted his feet on the side of not harming others, of limiting his activities to the occasional heist and helping Barry. For her part, Iris was reserved but willing to understand, to accept Len’s presence, and it was enough.

So he was waiting at the lab, and Barry let himself need that. He collapsed into Len’s arms after the battle with Zoom, and it was Len that took him home, that had tea waiting when Barry finished washing the blood out of his hair, off his body. Len that sat with him on the couch until the middle of the night because he was afraid to sleep, then tucked him in to bed and curled in behind him. Len who held him through the night with gentle kisses on his shoulders.

And he realized, at some point between dusk and dawn, that Zoom was only _ever_ going to be a nightmare now, that he was never going to hurt anyone he loved, not his family, his friends, not Len.

Barry slept. And Len slept with him.

**Author's Note:**

> My advice: do not write a 12k word fic in a single day.
> 
> But also, I’ve been really into the concept of nightmares recently. There’s Kipsi’s fic, Lisellevelvet’s drabble, a ficlet I did on tumblr, and now this monstrosity. I just feel that there is something about Zoom that is so haunting, and you see it on Barry after his fight with Zoom, for weeks and weeks, he’s struggling, he has these nightmares, and even his days he looks distracted, frustrated, mind elsewhere, mostly on Zoom. It breaks my heart, but I wanted to dive into some of that, and naturally, CF happened.
> 
> * The "*" in the fic about alcohol and Len getting drunker in Barry’s apartment is because that’s a real thing. Classical conditioning helps explain some neat stuff about alcohol and drug tolerance. See, if your body is used to you drinking in a certain place (e.g., at home, or at a bar), or while you’re doing certain activities, then in that context/place, you actually process the alcohol more efficiently and don’t feel its effects as much. It’s why people will often feel a-okay at a bar after a few drinks, but feel wasted when they get home. (you can google classical conditioning + alcohol tolerance for some details)
> 
> So for Len, who’s maybe used to drinking at home, even if it’s just a few beers a few nights a week, and who’s maybe used to having a beer or three and driving, he actually would feel more of the effects of alcohol upon entering a novel location, like Barry’s apartment. Couple that with the fact that he took a line of shots before leaving his place, and his age/metabolism meaning he wouldn’t feel them immediately and the extra alcohol would only start to take effect around the time he got to Barry’s… yeah. I’m not saying he was sober enough to drive or that it was in any way acceptable (I literally hate drunk driving, it’s never okay), but he was a lot more sober while he was on the bike than he was at Barry’s apartment.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you’ve enjoyed this. I’m sure there are typos and I will go back and edit them at some point ;)


End file.
